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Metal clashing with metal. Magic striking from above. Battle cries to rival the largest of wars. These were the only sounds that could be heard deep within the cellars of the Lorn Cathedral in occupied Northreach, ruled with an iron fist by Darius, a well known thief that viewed himself as high and mighty, scaring away any opposition or even questions with threats and bullies for lackeys. Today however, that was about to change.
As a thief himself; Therion would often wonder how in the name of the Gods he'd even gotten into this situation. The young man had been on the very brink of toppling into despair after the authoritarian Northreach leader, once a former close friend, had left him for dead after pushing him off a cliff in favour of joining the Cianno group of thieves. Now, after miraculously surviving the fall and coming away from a theft that went wrong, he found himself with an ragtag group of travellers [He'd only just stopped thinking that the team name agreed on, Octopath, was completely without a doubt one hundred percent ridiculous] working for high in society Lady Cornelia Ravus to steal back her family's heirloom, the Dragonstones, two of which were in the hands of Darius. Initially despising the very idea of having to work with seven people he didn't know he could trust, the young thief, as much as he wouldn't openly admit it, didn't know what he would have done without them, particularly the three travellers that had chosen to fight by his side now.
First was Olberic Eisenburg, a powerful knight from the lost kingdom of Hornburg. When Therion had first encountered him, he was a broken shell of a man, his sword being more of a useless accessory than a weapon, searching for his purpose after their King was killed and Hornburg fell. Now, after all he had gone through, he could handle six weapons like they were nothing, fire in his previously emotionless eyes, as he fought for his new purpose - those who needed him and those he cared about. Therion would never forget the moment Olberic discovered why his kingdom had to fall - it took at least four travellers to hold him back from mutilating the dead body of mastermind Werner any more. Not that Therion could blame him - his homeland completely destroyed all for some stupid gate.
Then there was Cyrus Albright, a quizzical scholar that was soon to resume teaching at the Royal Academy of Atlasdam. As utterly irritating the Professor could be with his thousand and one questions, Therion had to admire him in a way - he would have never forgiven the brat that had been the cause of this sabbatical in the first place with her jealousy and deceit. He was glad of it though - with his powerful magic, Cyrus had seen Therion out of many a tricky moment during their long journey together, leaving the thief secretly awestruck with how he could conjure up fire, a skill that had taken him years to learn running from the law with Darius. One thing that Therion particularly remembered from Cyrus's own journey was when he was captured by his former boss Yvon in Stonegard [Oh, how Therion had enjoyed landing the last blow on that crazy bastard] and the travellers had gone frantic with worry looking for him. Therion had never remembered feeling that way before - this worry, this fear that something that happened to this incredible mind, this kind-hearted scholar that only wanted to use his knowledge for the power of good, kept him awake for days afterwards.
And then, there was Alfyn.
Oh, Alfyn Greengrass.
He was an apothecary from some backwater village in the Riverlands, Clearbrook, and the leader of the Octopath Travellers. At first, the young thief struggled to even look at Alfyn - the green across his entire outfit could only remind him of Darius' sneer as Therion fell on that day. However, Alfyn was stubborn, and never gave up on the thief. He was the first to reach him when injuries needed to be treated, even when he was training a teammate, whenever Therion was kept up with nightmares from his trauma, Alfyn would be the one to comfort him, despite the amount of times the thief would try and push him away. Eventually, Alfyn's persistence, maybe unbeknownst to him, was beginning to pay off, as Therion's carefully constructed walls were beginning to crumble, allowing the young apothecary in as a... friend? ...Something else? Only Aeber knows. All Therion knew was that something deep within him urged him to be by Alfyn's side in return, to make him smile, to make him laugh, to help him; to protect him. These thoughts overpowered the young thief in particular when the group met Miguel Twinspears in Saintsbridge. He still remembered the light in Alfyn's eyes completely die when Miguel's true intentions were revealed, filled quickly by rage as he undid his mistake of saving that bastard's life and the endless tears as he sobbed in Therion's arms that night in the inn until he fell into a restless sleep. Hell would freeze over before he would let that happen again. Part of Therion wished Aeber could bring Miguel back just so he could kill him again.
However, more important matters were at hand.
The fighting was certainly paying off. Darius, initially coming into the battle as arrogant and cocky as ever, was now swaying as he stood, panting heavily, showing signs of discomfort from the merciless chill of the ice that both Alfyn and Cyrus had been dealing out. Clearly the notorious Northreach leader hadn't expected to be beaten down to this level. Knowing him, Therion thought that he would have expected four complete pushovers that would surrender to his 'might', not exactly what the Unbending Blade of Hornburg in particular was ever about. Yeah. He - no, they could win this. He'd finally be rid of this demon that's been hanging over him for so long, finally he could begin to move on with those he'd gained a new appreciation for; those he...
"Heh... I'll steal yer most prized treasure!"
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The young thief's thoughts were interrupted as he was lunging forward to attack his former friend by a sudden appearance of large, thick black smoke, that immediately covered the entirety of the battlefield. Therion stopped in his tracks to shield his own working eye from being stung by the smoke, keeping his Doombreaker dagger firmly in his left hand in case of any surprise attacks, but nothing came. Instead, around about fifteen seconds later, the smoke suddenly parted and then cleared, startling the young thief as his surroundings suddenly became bright once again. ...Wait. Something wasn't right though. Things seemed quieter now... far too quiet. Why was Darius chuckling and grinning like an utter clown? He was outnumbered and to the brink of defeat, maybe Cyrus would be able to tell him what the hell was going- what!?
Therion's confusion quickly turned into sheer horror after looking behind him to his companions, only to discover nothing but a completely empty space where they once stood, with not a single shred of evidence that they had ever been there in the first place. Had he gone mad? Had they just been a figment of his own imagination? Was he really alone this whole time? ...No. He couldn't think so irrationally now, he had come so far since meeting the Octopath Travellers. He needed to find out just what was going on here. Of course, Northreach's self appointed leader was only too pleased to rub it in.
"Don't you worry about them. They're just all a little tied up with my boys at the moment." he sniggered, twirling his sword casually as if this was just a regular catch-up in the nearest tavern. "Ya don't need them anyway, Theri. Have I taught you nothin'? They'd have only used ya in the end. I'm doin' you a favour."
A favour... a fucking favour!? Therion took just a moment to take those words in. The Octopath Travellers had done more for him in the few short months than Darius had ever done for him in the many years they had known each other. They'd taught Therion the real meaning behind trust and friendship, accepted him when no one else in the whole of Orsterra probably ever would; built him back up from where he had fallen. Olberic had become a father figure to the young thief, offering words of support from his thirty five years of being alive. Cyrus was the knowledgeable one, who Therion had taken in many lessons of his own from, sharing his pride as Therion mastered his limited use of fire magic, as well as when Therion learned light magic in his training as a cleric, and Alfyn... well, in his mind; Therion had many positive words he could describe the young apothecary with. Wait... Olberic and Cyrus, they were purely offensive attackers, they could handle themselves. Alfyn, sure, he had his axe and he could work his way around a bow with relative ease but primarily, he was a healer. He was a fucking healer against a hundred dozen thieves.
Oh fucking shitting hell.
He was going to lose him.
He was going to die.
Alfynwasgoingtodieandit'sallhisfuckingFAULT-
...No.
"How... dare... you..." he could barely recognise his own voice as it was laced with venom, complete anger as he could only imagine Alfyn struggling against the sheer numbers of Darius' lackeys.
"You what, tea leaf?"
"...How... DARE YOU!"
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His ears ringing, Therion found himself almost robotically lunging forward again towards his former friend, the latter of which had no time to react as the young thief immediately lowered his strength and defence. Then his dagger went into motion, slashing and slashing and slashing into the fragile rough skin of Darius like something possessed, completely ignoring the animalistic screams of the other as the crimson red blood was spilling from both of their shattered arms. Therion briefly wondered what he was doing exactly – was he stealing Darius’s strength? Was he setting him on fire? Was he attacking the deepest darkest sins of his former friend with his light magic? At this point though, he couldn’t give two shits about Darius – he’d taken so much from him and this? This was the last straw. In his fit of rage the young thief could still tell that Darius was close to finally being taken out, as he was coughing violently, struggling to stand; his tired and cold eyes staring deep into Therion’s working eye.
“…COUGH…COUGH…heh…” Oh, what was he chuckling at this time? “…Ya… ya wouldn’t this to your friend, would you… partner…?”
Partner. That word burned in Therion’s ears like a hot brand, stinging him across his entire body as his past threatened to return to him, reliving the very moment where he was freefalling from that cliff after Darius’s betrayal. Yet again, Northreach’s self appointed leader was only too pleased to take advantage of Therion’s vulnerability, preparing his sword for a sweep that would surely knock his former friend and partner off his feet. The young thief definitely wouldn’t see it coming, finally, Darius thought as he went for Therion’s throat, he would finish the job, finally he would be rid of this little nuisance –
“ENOUGH!”
Therion was soon brought back into reality as a very familiar Forbidden Blade flashed in front of his working eye, sending Darius careening over onto the far left hand side of the road. A faded question which was something along the lines of ‘Are you harmed’ brought his attention to the wielder of the blade, which to his delight, as he suspected, was the all too familiar Unbending Blade of Hornburg. He flashed a smirk and then a nod, trying to hide any fear he had of them being taken away from him. Then, not too long after Olberic had made his grand return, five thieves sailed through the entrance where the men were fighting, shards of ice and sparks of lightning magic spread across their unconscious bodies as none other than Cyrus strode into the room, as if he had just been on a day’s stroll after a busy day at the academy rather than battles with potentially hundreds of thieves. He continued his stride until he reached the dazed self appointed Northreach leader, uttering a magnificent ‘Now the TRUE lesson begins!’ as he almost always did when he was charging up his greatest attacks, spinning Darius across the floor with his ice magic. By now if he wasn’t struggling already, Darius definitely was now, making eye contact once again with Therion as it seemed to dawn on him that he was very much at risk of losing the Dragonstones and maybe his own power as well. Then, just as he staggered up to his feet to attack the three of them again, there was a sudden tap on his right shoulder from someone that Therion couldn’t see. Darius span around to confront whoever this was.
“Thought ya had me?” That voice… Alfyn!? This line was then followed by a chuckle, and then a cold: “Try again.”
Therion heard the clang of the metal from Darius’s sword as it was knocked straight out of his hands, and then, a well timed swing of an axe to Darius’s right side finally sent him crashing down to the cold floor, unconscious and finally defeated. However, Therion could only stare at the one and only Alfyn Greengrass, completely lost for words as the latter stood there with a sheepish smile on his face, messing with his golden messy ponytail, as Cyrus collected the two Dragonstones from where they stood. Therion was glad to see all of them, of course. Darius was right in saying they were his greatest treasure. However, he could no longer deny that Alfyn was the most special to him… hell… he loved him. Yeah. That was the word Therion was looking for earlier. He was, without a doubt, one hundred percent in love with Alfyn Greengrass, and he could still be, as he was alive…
Alfyn was alive.
Completely overcome by emotion of the entire battle, Therion, irrationally almost, sprinted towards the young apothecary, who just about was able to catch him in time when he fell into him. The taller male immediately wrapped his arms around the shaking thief as he in turn gripped onto his green jacket, making his sobs as muffled as possible so he didn’t look like a complete idiot in front of Cyrus and Olberic. Thank Aeber the girls weren’t here to witness this. However, he knew he could be himself around Alfyn by now, he knew he would understand and even if he didn’t, he just seemed to know exactly what to do to calm him down from a cliff edge. As they hugged, he felt the taller male lean down and place a featherlight kiss onto the top of his dishevelled white hair, which caught Therion’s attention immediately as he directed his gaze upon the gently smiling apothecary, who seemed to have tears in his eyes himself.
“Ya missed me that much, huh?” he murmured, and Therion could have entered into hysterics at that point. Missed him was definitely an understatement. “Well don’t ya worry, Theri. You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, you hear?”
“…Heard.” Therion uttered quietly in response, burying his back into the apothecary’s chest as their grips on each other tightened. With his final demon beaten, Therion enjoyed his greatest treasure being in his arms once more, finding it rather ironic that he, a master in his craft of stealing from the people of Orsterra, had something he now realised he couldn’t let go of. Alfyn was safe and loved, even if he didn’t return Therion’s feelings, and if the travellers did part for good after all of their journies had come to a close, Therion would never forget what they had done for him. But for now? He would, perhaps more openly after this experience, enjoy the company of all of the travellers, with a steady eye on the young apothecary who had changed his life forever.
Trust. Friendship. Love.
They were funny things, weren’t they?
But by the Gods, Therion was glad that Aeber had kept him alive long enough for him to learn them.
End.